“Why didn’t you approach my uncle? He would have provided for you. He has wanted a son since my father’s death. A son to inherit.”
Whitney wagged his finger at her. “Gillian, don’t dangle that carrot under my nose. I’m not going to turn up nice and let you and the others go free under the happy aura of a family reuniting and all of us living happily ever after. I know the laws of inheritance as well as you.”
“You are talking about killing your own flesh and blood, the father who never had the opportunity to do right by you. Even now after all you have done, he will help you. Give you funds to leave England, to start over. I know my uncle and I know this to be true.”
“My dear cousin, I will have it all once Napoleon is on the throne. I will be the Duke of Whitney and since you have so graciously married Moreham, I will annex his lands as well. Not bad for an orphan, don’t you know.” Stephen Martin cocked his head to look out the window. “We are there. Now, all that is left to do is to meet my father. You’ll do the introductions, cousin.”
She folded her arms over her breasts and glared at the man. She had to delay Martin from exiting the coach. Moreham and the others needed time to get in place.
Her cousin sighed deeply and waved his pistol at her. “Gillian, delaying the inevitable won’t work, my dear. I know everything. Moreham works in the Home Office with his little band of friends and that featherbrained Philomena Preston. I also know your marriage is a sham. Moreham intends to hide you away in some backwater estate. Too bad neither of you will survive the night.
“I know he and Cross are either here at the abbey or will be soon. Don’t look surprised. Whitney’s footmen are proficient at listening at keyholes. All you can do now is be dignified in defeat and death. I hold all the cards, my dear cousin.”
The two men she loved most were walking into a trap. She must warn them. Gillian refused to give up now that she had found Moreham. She had to do as she’d done with Lady Roberts…watch for an opportunity.
She tried to distract the man with more questions. “So, Mr. Martin, you are the man in charge of this conspiracy?”
The pistol in the man’s hand wavered downward at her question. “Me? No, my dear. My thanks for giving me so much credit, but no, I am a small player in this affair. And, no, I will not tell you the name of the peer who is. I value my own life far too greatly to travel that road.”
Gillian pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side. She hoped she looked harmless, curious, but harmless nonetheless. “Moreham says men like you are masters of deception. Never as one seems.”
“Dearest cousin, my mere existence proves your husband’s words to be true.”
Gillian clenched her fists in the folds of Lady Roberts’ cloak to keep from slapping the pistol out of the supercilious little man’s hand and scratching his eyes out. The viciousness of her thoughts surprised her.
The insidious little worm had no idea with whom he was dealing. She had no intention of dying. Not when she had finally found the one man she loved. She intended to live to be an old woman with Moreham at her side and their children all around them until she drew her last breath.
Taking a deep breath, she glared at Martin. “I shall enjoy your comeuppance at my husband’s hand.”
Her newly revealed cousin laughed which gave her the chance she’d been waiting for. Gillian shot forward and grabbed his pistol with both hands and jerked the weapon from him. Gillian fell on the seat and turned the pistol on Stephen Martin.
“Give me the pistol, my lady,” Martin growled at her. “All you can do is shoot me which will bring the coachman and groom to investigate which will land you in deeper water. Neither man has any morals, in this for the money. Your life means nothing to them.”
The coach rocked from side to side. The cur took advantage of the movement and lunged across the coach. Gillian screamed and lurched to the side of the seat while Martin fell headfirst into the seat cushions. She raised the pistol and smashed the butt of the weapon downward into the back of his head.
Gillian pushed herself into the seat and looked down to find the man crumpled at her feet. She could hear his breathing, but he didn’t move.
Inaction on her part was not an option. The worst eventuality would be for her so-called cousin to regain consciousness. She laid the pistol down at her side within reach. She’d shoot him if need be. How she wished she had worn a gown then she would have a petticoat. She pulled her shirttail from her breeches and ripped two strips of cloth. She now had an appreciation for the long shirts men wore.
Gillian grabbed Martin’s arms then tied them behind his back. She took the second strip and stuffed the fabric in his mouth. Uncle Whitney had taught her how to tie knots and she had learned well. Her captive would not weasel free. Maybe she should teach Moreham the skill. A quick search of his pockets bore fruit in the form of a pouch of coins.
She moved to open the coach door and realized Lady Roberts’ cloak was more of a hindrance. She tore at the ribbons knotted at her neck and tossed the cloak aside.
The coach lurched forward and stopped. Gillian shook with fear of what would happen next. As much as she didn’t want
